


Green Lights Forever

by GotTheSilver



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Berlin (City), Future Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 14:09:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11784777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: sometimes relationships need time.*Zach’s not sure when one of his best friends slipped away from him, when they stopped keeping each other updated on the minutiae of their lives, but somehow they let it happen.  He let it happen, probably.Without thinking, Zach pulls out his phone and takes a photo of the mug, logo of the cafe clearly displayed on the menu in shot.  He connects to the wifi and pulls up Chris’ contact details; pausing for the smallest moment, Zach clicks on the photo, adds ‘come find me’, and presses send.





	Green Lights Forever

**Author's Note:**

> for J.
> 
> I would say none of this happened, but it's future fic so who knows (no, seriously, none of this happened, don't @ me)
> 
> title stolen from lana del ray because some things are a cliche for a reason
> 
> [post on tumblr](http://motleywolf.tumblr.com/post/164109130407/new-fic-rpf-zachchris-28k)

Zach never thought he’d be in this position as he slowly crept up to fifty. Ten years ago, things were stable, he and Miles were stable, and now—well now Miles is with someone else, and Zach is alone. Again.

History repeating itself is the theme of the day because he’s found himself bunkered down in the cafe he and Chris visited all those years ago the morning after everything. When they were hungover and giggly, unable to stop touching each other, neither aware of what the future would hold. Drinking his chai, picking at his panini—ordered despite his trainer’s thoughts on carbs—Zach tries not to let the melancholia overtake him, but he knows he’s failing.

He doesn’t even remember the last time he saw Chris, after the press for the fourth Trek ended, they just stopped seeing each other. Zach’s not sure when one of his best friends slipped away from him, when they stopped keeping each other updated on the minutiae of their lives, but somehow they let it happen. He let it happen, probably.

Without thinking, Zach pulls out his phone and takes a photo of the mug, logo of the cafe clearly displayed on the menu in shot. He connects to the wifi and pulls up Chris’ contact details; pausing for the smallest moment, Zach clicks on the photo, adds ‘come find me’, and presses send.

*

Zach doesn’t expect anything from the message, it’s the first time he’s communicated with Chris in months, and he wouldn’t blame Chris for ignoring him, for never wanting to speak to him again, especially with a message like that.

He’s sure he makes a ridiculous picture, sitting on his bed in his hotel bathrobe, eating room service and flicking through television channels. Zach’s not even sure why he’s here, aside from the fact he needed to get out of New York, didn’t want to go back to Pittsburgh, and LA was—it was LA. The home of too many things he’s been trying not to want.

Staring at the bowl of fries, Zach rubs his stomach and lets out a heavy sigh. It’s pathetic, really, Zach knows he could go anywhere, do anything, and instead he’s in the same hotel that they stayed in all those years ago, attempting to recapture some semblance of the happiness he felt back then.

The phone on the bedside table rings and Zach reaches over to pick it up, almost knocking over the room service tray. “Hello?”

“Mr Quinto, this is the front desk, you have a visitor,” comes the voice down the line. “Would you like him sent up?”

“Uh—” Zach would swear he can feel his heart pounding against his ribcage and he takes a hard swallow. “What’s his name?”

There’s a low murmur, the phone speaker obviously being covered, before the voice is back. “Mr Quinto? He is Chris Pine.”

A large part of Zach wants to throw up, instead he somehow manages to pull himself together. “Send him up. Thank you.”

“Of course, Mr Quinto.”

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, Zach runs his fingers through his hair, wondering how the hell Chris got to Berlin so quickly. Looking down at himself, Zach wonders if he should put something other than a bathrobe on, if he should splash some water on his face and at least attempt to make himself look more presentable. But then there’s a knock on his door and all he’s got time to do is wipe his sweaty palms on the plush fabric of the robe before he heads over to open it.

“What the fuck, Zach?” Chris asks, eyes hard as he stands in the hall, staring at him. “What the fuck were you—that _message_ , I—” He shoves past Zach into the room, drops his bag on the floor, turns on his heel and waves his hands in the air.

Closing the door, Zach takes a few steps forward into the room and folds his arms across his chest. “Hi, Chris.”

“Really?”

“What?”

“‘Hi Chris’? That’s your big opening?”

Zach shrugs and sits on the end of the bed, picking up the bowl of fries and holding them out. “You hungry?”

At that, Chris seems to deflate, and he ducks his head. “Yeah,” he says quietly before looking up and meeting Zach’s eyes. “Always.”

“Then take a seat,” Zach says, patting the bed and trying to buy some time. “Have a fry.”

To Zach’s surprise, Chris does what he’s told, and they eat in silence, Chris’ thigh pressed up against Zach’s leg, fingers brushing together when they both reach inside the bowl. Before too long, the fries are gone and Zach puts the bowl on the ground, wiping his hand on his robe. “Where were you?” he asks, eventually. “You got here quickly.”

“Yeah, I—I was in London.”

“Oh. I thought—” Zach breaks off, looks down at his own hands twisting together in his lap. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Then why did you do it? I don’t hear from you for months, and then you—”

“I know,” Zach interrupts. “I know. I’m sorry. I missed you, but the more time went on, the more it felt like it would be awkward if I did call you. Then Miles and I broke up, and I didn’t want it to seem like I was only calling you because of that.”

“You could’ve,” Chris says, nudging his knee against Zach’s leg. “You could’ve called me any time you wanted. Zach, I—you gotta know that however long we go without speaking, I’m always gonna want to talk to you.”

“How did you know I was staying here?” Zach asks, not wanting to touch what Chris has said, not yet. It’s stirring up too much for him already, and if he thinks about it too much, he’s going to break. “I didn’t—”

“Zach.” Chris grabs his hand, holding it between his own. “Don’t ask stupid questions. Where else would you stay?”

Zach huffs and gives in to his need for touch, leaning heavily against Chris, resting his head against Chris’ shoulder. “I’m that predictable, huh?”

“Only to me.”

Chris’ hair brushes against Zach’s forehead, and he smiles to himself, straightening up. “When did you let your hair grow out?”

“Ah, I—this guy I was seeing,” Chris says quietly. “He liked my hair short, so when we broke up, I decided to grow it out.”

“Miles hated my sweaters,” Zach says with a small smile, trying to ignore the slight pang in his chest. “I bought ten new ones the day after we ended. What guy?”

“You don’t know him,” Chris says. “No one knew him, he—it was a mistake.”

“Chris, what did he—”

“No,” Chris interrupts. “Nothing, he didn’t—” he breaks off and stands up, running a hand through his hair. “He didn’t _do_ anything, but he wanted—God—he wanted to be ‘Chris Pine’s boyfriend’, wanted whatever the hell went along with that.”

“He wanted to out you?” Zach asks, watching the slow flush spreading down Chris’ neck, wanting to unbutton his shirt and explore like he used to have the right to do, like he loved doing so many times.

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I didn’t—I don’t _care_ if people know, but it seemed so fucking sleazy and I—” Chris cuts himself off and shrugs. “I didn’t like him that much.”

Zach’s quiet for a moment. “You’ve changed,” he says, eventually. “You really don’t care if people know?”

“No.”

Standing up, Zach takes the few steps to close the gap between them, reaches a hand up and runs a hand through Chris’ greying hair. “This looks good,” Zach says, tugging on Chris’ hair firmly, a spark in his stomach when Chris very obviously holds back a noise. “Keeping the grey. Chris, I—why did you come?”

“Why did you ask me?”

“Because—” Zach rests his hand on Chris’ shoulder, wanting to curl it around the back of Chris’ neck and pull him in. His eyes catch the quick swipe of Chris’ tongue over his lips, and Zach takes a deep breath to steady himself. “It’s you,” he says softly. “All these years and I can’t let you go.”

Chris doesn’t say anything, licks his lips again, eyes fixed on Zach as he moves even closer, until there’s nothing between them, and Zach can feel Chris’ body pressed up against him. “Were you trying?” Chris asks, hands trailing along the edge of the bathrobe. “To let me go?”

“Not as hard as I should’ve been.”

There’s a nod from Chris, the corner of his mouth turning up. “Stop trying.”

Zach would swear he can feel the air crackle, that time stops after Chris says those words, but then—then he’s got Chris’ mouth on his and nothing else matters. He’s missed everything about Chris; the way he dives into each kiss like it’s something new to be discovered; how he nips at Zach’s mouth as if he wants to devour him; the noises he makes when Zach does the same to him. It’s overwhelming, a full scale attack on all of Zach’s senses, and he feels like he’s drowning in it, in everything he’s spent years missing.

Chris’ hands are tugging at the tie on the bathrobe and Zach pulls away from the kiss, smiling when Chris pouts. “I’m not wearing anything under this,” Zach points out.

“Oh, I can tell,” Chris says, reaching down, grabbing Zach’s cock through the robe, a wicked smile crossing his face. Kissing the corner of Zach’s mouth, Chris rests their foreheads together. “Can we just—” Stepping back, he unbuttons his shirt and drops it on the armchair. “More?” he asks, fingers playing against the fly of his jeans.

“Do you want me to play Cherry Pie?” Zach asks, the snark leaving his tone as he gazes at Chris, unable to take his eyes off him.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Jesus, Chris, yes.” Zach shakes his head and sits on the bed, undoing the tie on the bathrobe, letting it fall open. “Take them off.”

Chris looks down at himself before looking back at Zach, tongue quickly swiping over his lips. “I really want to blow you right now.”

The groan that escapes Zach’s mouth is almost involuntary, an instinctive reaction to hearing those words coming from Chris. He doesn’t say a word, just watches as Chris kicks his sneakers off, slipping out of his jeans, leaving them in an untidy pile by the armchair. Now Zach’s the one wearing too many clothes, and he lets the robe slide down his arms, spreads his legs as the fabric falls away from his body.

Chris raises an eyebrow as he steps forward and stands between Zach’s legs; reaching down, he touches Zach’s face, pressing a thumb against the corner of Zach’s mouth. “Fuck, I missed you,” he says, before sinking to his knees with more grace than Zach thinks he should have at this moment.

“Are you talking to me or my dick?” Zach asks, threading his fingers through Chris’ hair.

“Eh.” Chris wraps a hand around Zach’s cock and runs his tongue along it. “Both?”

Whatever Zach was going to say is cut off by the feel of Chris’ mouth on his cock and he instinctively tightens his grip on Chris’ hair, memories flooding back of all the times he’s had Chris on his knees before; all the stolen moments they had on the press tours, the lazy days spent in bed when they were back in LA, the way it almost grew into something more before they both got scared.

It’s all too fucking much for Zach; Chris’ mouth is hot, wet, and when he looks down at him, Chris is looking up at him, eyes half lidded and trusting. “Chris, I—” is all Zach manages to get out before he’s coming, and it’s like a goddamn dam has broken inside of him. It barely takes a minute before he’s reaching down, grabbing Chris’ arm and pulling him up until they’re face to face, Zach’s tongue lapping at the come smeared on Chris’ beard before kissing him, seeking out his own taste.

Chris climbs on top of him, knees either side of Zach’s legs, and Zach wraps an arm around his back, holding him steady. “I’m too fucking old for that,” Chris says with a wry smile. “My knees hurt.”

“Poor baby,” Zach says, ghosting his fingers over the head of Chris’ cock, grinning when Chris hisses, moving his hips into the touch. “Want me to make it better?” He doesn’t give Chris a chance to respond, just lifts his hand to his mouth and spits before reaching back down and wrapping his palm around Chris’ cock.

“Not gonna take much,” Chris bites out, rocking up into Zach’s hand, ducking his head, burying his face against Zach’s neck. “I’m— _fuck_.”

Zach carries on working Chris, savouring all the gasps slipping out, the heat of his mouth against Zach’s neck; the noises Chris makes as he comes are as familiar as breathing to Zach, and when it finally happens, Zach feels like everything has finally come full circle, like this is all he’ll ever want in life.

After a moment, Zach wipes his hand on the bed in a lazy attempt at cleaning up before he wraps both his arms around Chris, wanting to hold him as close as possible, never wanting to let him go again.

“Missed you,” Chris says against Zach’s neck. “So fucking much, Zach, I—”

“I know,” Zach says, relishing the way they’re tangled up together. “I know.”

“My leg hurts,” Chris says after a while, lifting his head and meeting Zach’s eyes. “Seriously, I’m too old for this.” Tilting his head, he frowns. “And I’m really hungry.”

“Some things never change.”

*

When Zach hangs up with room service, he walks out onto the balcony, finding Chris leaning on the railing, looking out into the city. He’s wearing a robe, fluffy hotel slippers, with a cigarette in one hand, a tumbler of scotch in the other, looking like something out of fifties Hollywood. If Zach didn’t need to be near him so much he’d stand there, watching Chris until Chris noticed his presence.

“Hey,” Zach says instead, coming up behind Chris and resting his chin on Chris’ shoulder. He touches Chris’ arm, bringing it up so he can steal a drag of the cigarette. “Ordered some food,” he says, breathing out the smoke as Chris lowers his hand. “Should be here soon.”

“Do you have to go back?” Chris asks, leaning against Zach.

“No. You?”

“I have a premiere in LA in two weeks. London was press, I—actually, I skipped out early to come here, and—”

“Chris—”

“It’s fine, really, I can do the rest over the phone from here. I mean, if you want—”

“Yes,” Zach interrupts. “I want.”

Chris takes a sip of the scotch. “Come to the premiere with me.”

“Okay,” Zach says easily.

“No, I mean as—as us. With me. Like, hold my hand, kiss me in front of the camera with me.”

Zach kisses the side of Chris’ jaw. “Okay,” he says again, quieter this time. “I can do that.”

“Really?” Chris asks, turning around to face Zach, surprise written all over his face. “I thought you’d be all ‘you can’t come out for me’ and shit.”

“Eloquent,” Zach says, raising an eyebrow. “I think you’re old enough to know what you want.”

“I want _you_ ,” Chris says. “I want all of it, I want to see your grumpy morning face every day, and get annoyed when you burn dinner—”

“I’ve actually got better at cooking,” Zach interrupts. “But I get your point. I want that too.”

“I tried to let you go as well, but I couldn’t,” Chris says. “You’re the only person I want to walk the red carpet with.”

“You’re lucky I already love you because that was a terrible line,” Zach says, cutting off Chris’ indignant protest with a kiss, finally letting himself believe that he can have what he’s always wanted, what he’s waited far too long to have. He can feel Chris smiling into the kiss, and Zach can’t help but return the smile, the kiss falling apart as they start laughing. Pressing a last kiss against Chris’ cheek, Zach steps back, pouring himself a measure of scotch.

“It wasn’t a terrible line,” Chris says, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray before leaning back against the railing.

“It really was,” Zach says, taking a drink from his glass. “But you’re good looking enough to get away with it.”

“I love you too, by the way,” Chris says, sticking his hands in the pockets of the robe. “We’re gonna be okay.”

“Yeah,” Zach says, taking a few steps and standing next to Chris, shoulders pressing together as he looks out at the lights scattered across buildings. “I think you’re right.”


End file.
